Reanimate Bone, Two Warriors Salvation
by Itty Bitty Albatross
Summary: The sequel the 'Reanimate Bone, Celestial Bronze, Stygian Iron'. Percy, having regained a facsimile of an arm, struggles to heal and overcome his trauma of the wars and the aftermath. Rated Mature because of hurt, trauma, language, mentions of a attempted suicide/self harm, underage relationships, PTSD and war. Eventual Pernico.
1. Chapter 1

Two Warriors; Salvation.

Chapter One: Pool Noodles.

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Percy felt odd as he rode Chiron towards the rising sun.

For one, it was the first time in what felt like a lifetime that he had a true, honest-to-Zeus quest—one not sought-out by him, or even invented by him, but one where he was actually _needed_ to be a hero again. It was a rush, and a bit odd, like walking on a numb leg. Percy kept expecting it to fall out from under him.

For two, he was riding on a centaur. Holding onto a pool noodle. And he'd noticed about an hour ago that someone—probably a younger demigod—had woven colored yarn into the growing locks on Chiron's head. And then beaded them with bright, neon plastic beads.

"That's some hair-do." Percy noted out loud. It was the first time he'd spoken for a while—running full-out cross-country while towing an overweight god in a chariot and carrying two teenagers was apparently a bit tiring. Chiron was focusing all his breath on that, so he hadn't been able to talk much. Or, any. Percy was dying to know what they were supposed to be doing, and he could practically feel Nico shaking with curiosity.

"Yes." Mr. D. drawled. "After thousands of years inflicting young heroes with the pressures of life, they finally fight back. With _rainbow beads_."

"How cruel." Nico deadpanned behind Percy.

"So, what's going on at Olympus again?" Percy asked the lethargic-looking deity, for the third time. And received the same answer as the previous two attempts:

"It's a long story, and Chiron will do it better justice." Then, after a second: "And I don't want to tell it." Mr. D. drank down his Diet Coke with all the intent of an alcoholic after a bad day.

"Still on the bottle, I see." Percy muttered quiet enough that Mr. D couldn't hear him.

"Still underestimating godly prowess, I see." Mr. D. muttered back, apparently quite within range of godly hearing. Percy would have to remember that—despite the 'used-car-salesman' appearance, Mr. D. was a god.

"Could you not have picked a better word than 'prowess'?" Nico said at the same pitch.

"How did that medical education coming along?" Mr. D changed the subject. He seemed about as interested in Nico's education as Percy was in the functions of graphs in geometry. Which was to say, not at all.

"Very well, thanks." Percy remembered Nico attending classes, but he couldn't think of the last time Nico would have had a chance to actually _attend_ one, what with running all over the country after Percy.

"Obviously." Mr. D. said sarcastically. Behind his more-for-fashion-than-darkness sunglasses, his eyes lingered on Percy's bone arm, a scratch on Nico's hand from a wayward branch, the bruises that littered the two of their arms.

"If you can't say something nice. . ." Percy said in a sing-song tone of voice. He left the rest implied, but Mr. D. didn't appear to be particularly worried about Percy's ideas of censorship.

"When have us gods ever been nice?" Mr. D. snorted.

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Some time later, Percy was clumsily dismounting from Chiron and tenderly stretching from side to side. All of his muscles seemed locked up and knotted, with the exception of the ones that didn't really exist.

It was odd, the way he kept reacting to his new almost-arm.

Every morning, he'd startle when he'd see it there, and it would twitch with his surprise, bones clacking. After so long of not having anything there, he'd forget its very existence—things that he could now kind-of do, like tying his shoes, would be easier if he could every remember that he could now do them. Usually, he didn't remember. Other times, he used the arching line of bones as instinctively as he once used his real arm, like when he scratched an itch. It took him a couple seconds to even realize he had, in fact, used the arm at all.

Percy wrapped his bone-fingers around the wrist of his other hands and pulled, stretching out the kinks in his right arm.

"How is the arm working?" Chiron asked, a little wheezily, from where he was shifting a few yards away.

"Good." Percy reflected a moment.

"The grip sucks." Nico noted from the grass behind Percy. He appeared to be trying in vain to become one with the earth.

"That's true." Percy had discovered that the morning he truly, actually woke up from his magic-induced coma the week previous. He'd tried to turn on a lamp with the arm, thinking it was a good a time as ever to figure out how to function as a bi-armed being again, only to find that smooth bone just slides straight off plastic.

Refusing to use his other arm and admit that this failure-of-a-limb just might be somewhat useless, Percy sat there in the dark for an hour swearing at the lamp and trying to turn it on, until Annabeth came in and turned it on for him.

"Hm." Chiron shook his hair back, bright beads swaying. "I'm expecting a story there, Perseus."

Percy swallowed and turned slightly, not meeting Chiron's eyes.

Then, he turned back, because he was sick and tired of hiding and apologizing for trying to do something for _him_—just because his life had never been anything more than a pawn, a martyr for the gods and their children, he'd always thought that that was _all _he was. Now, he deserved to try to fix things for himself.

"I'll give you a story then." Percy promised. "Later. First, what the heck is going on?"

Chiron's face turned grave and dark.

There were times when Chiron projected youth, vitality, strength. There were times when Percy forgot who Chiron truly was.

Then, there were times when the full fury of thousands of years burned in Chiron's eyes, and he seemed to fold inward on himself, like the weight of training and losing hundreds of sons and daughters had finally collapsed on him like the sky onto Atlas.

This was one of those darker times. Percy saw once again the figure of the Chiron of legend, the one sane centaur who lived amongst the very gods.

"You're scary, dude." Nico summarized behind Percy.

Chiron startled back a bit to his unassuming, softer self. "My apologies. We're all under a lot of stress."

"What's wrong?" Percy inquired. When Chiron didn't immediately speak, he stepped closer. "Chiron? What happened?"

"The gods are ill, Percy. The gods are dying."

_The gods are dying,_ Percy thought.

_The gods might die._

"Fuck." Percy said aloud.

"Rubber bands!" Nico practically yelled from behind him.

Simultaneously, incredulously, Percy, Chiron, and a begrudging Mr. D turned to look at Nico.

"What?" Chiron looked about as confused as Percy felt.

"Nothing." Nico rubbed his foot back and forth on the dirt.

The trio continued to stare at him.

"I just realized—if we wrapped rubber bands around Percy's finger bones, he'd have a grip." Nico mumbled.

Percy looked down at his hand and nodded. That might, actually, work.

"Di Ablo has his priorities straight." Mr. D said sarcastically. Chiron was looking from Nico to Percy to Dionysus with an odd look.

"Sorry." Nico muttered. "But, if Percy's your 'only hope' and all that, you're gonna need him at peak condition, right? So, rubber bands."

"Thanks." Percy said, honestly meaning it for the first time in a long time. "If the gods really are dying, I'm going to need all the help I can get."

"They are." Mr. D said unhelpfully.

"Lovely." Percy said.

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**A/N: Part II is officially up! Also, I'll be going through and edited Part I as I go, to finally fix my little mess-ups. **

**Tell me what you think, luvs!**

**Tobi.**


	2. Chapter 2--Grass (& a different Thalia)

II. Grass.

"So, who else are you calling in?" Percy inquired, just as Nico shadow-traveled into the clearing. Chiron and Mr. D both looked up from their pinochle game in front of the setting sun. Nico set down the McDonald's bags on the ground and glanced around. Too many bad memories of shadow-traveling directly into danger.

The light refracting off the table, it was a peaceful setting—looking at it, no one should have been able to guess that things were bad.

Nico could feel the unease hovering in the air, anyway. It was thick enough that Nico could have cut out a chunk, and then cut that chunk into littler chunks, but apparently venting anger by slicing up things with swords was uncool or something.

"No one." Chiron said slowly.

Nico winced preemptively. If there was a no-no for demigods, it was trying to function in groups twos, fours, or eights.

"We need a third." Percy reminded Chiron. Chiron nodded sagely and surveyed his game with Dionysus.

"I'm aware. I thought it should be your place to pick the third, this being your quest."

"Except it's not." Nico couldn't help interjecting.

"The oracle did not give him a prophecy, I'll admit." Chiron said, and Percy looked suddenly spooked, like he thought Chiron was going to take away his chance to save Olympus, yet again.

"But we've been informed that this is ultimately Percy's quest." Chiron finished.

"By who?" Both Percy and Nico asked, but differently: Percy was curious, almost interrogative, and Nico was demanding.

All this work, all this effort to try to fix what the gods had done—_again_—and Percy was expected to swoop in and wreck himself for the gods again. Goddamn it.

"Rachel Elizabeth Dare."

"Rachel's at school." Apparently, the Oracle pursued a life outside of her magical abilities. Nico could admire that—admire _her_—in as much that he was a bristling ball of jealousy for those kinds of demigods.

"She phoned down from school to tell us. It was quite amusing." Chiron seemed to liven up at the memory—he always did, it seemed, when talking about the kids he was fond of. He got very attached to them.

Not that Nico could judge for getting over-attached to people.

"Amusing?" Percy's eyebrows quirked.

"There wasn't a private line, so she had to speak in a code of sorts."

Mr. D. mumbled something into his drink and declared he had won the game.

"So you have." Chiron admitted.

"Why is Mr. D. still okay?" For all that these two kept talking about the gods being 'ill' and 'dying', Dionysus seemed to be functioning just fine. Or, as well as Dionysus ever functioned.

"I am not still okay." Mr. D. set down his cup and glowered at Nico with a considerable force for a pudgy man in a shirt embroidered with koi fish.

He continued staring, not expounding on that in any way.

"Um." Percy said from the side. Eloquent.

"I am currently doing my best to turn you into a weasel." Mr. D. said, in the tone of voice that implies someone is currently struggling a great deal with an act.

Nico glanced down to make sure he was not a weasel. Jeans, shirt, shoes. No fur.

"I would appreciate not being a weasel." Nico said slowly. Sometimes, when various other gods either a) turned him into something or b) threatened to turn him into something, being polite was enough to mask the utter ambivalence he had for their interference.

"I would appreciate him not being a weasel." Percy stepped in with a nervous chuckle.

"As would I." Chiron said dryly.

"Merely demonstrating my inability to perform normal, godly habits."

"Common problem." Percy said in a hushed tone. "One in four. Add a more-than-healthy dose of soda and…"

"I can hear you!" Mr. D. reiterated crabbily.

"Nothing to be ashamed of!" Percy widened his eyes and nodded reassuringly.

Nico noted with some amusement that Chiron was fighting back a smile.

Chiron was a cool dude, as far as people in charge went.

"Moving on…" Chiron interfered, before Mr. D. could finally succeed in what looked like a valiant attempt to burn Percy to a crisp with his eyes.

"All of the gods are like this." Mr. D. said.

"All of them?" Percy asked.

"Yes."

Nico felt a swooping sensation in his lower stomach—equal parts haunting and nauseating.

His feelings for the gods were mixed. More like blended. Crushed and blended, maybe.

"Why?" Percy asked.

"If we knew, we wouldn't need to ask for your assistance."

Percy was barely paying attention—of course he hadn't really been asking Chiron as much as racking his brains and talking out loud.

"Why not?" Nico felt the need to point out. A millennia of ticking people off had surely resulted in one fairly well-planned plan. Well, one that was more well-planned than the classic stories of chucking rocks at Olympus.

(Nico was more well-versed in godly stories than most demigods, despite having no actual training—Mythomagic turned out handy for something, at least.)

Mr. D. looked startled for a moment, like he'd forgotten that minor gods—or even demigods, or mortals—could hurt gods in rare instances. Gods, Nico had slowly begun to gather, were not as infallible as they thought themselves.

Neither Chiron nor Percy looked startled. They'd seen the gods nearly fall enough times in their lifetimes (Chiron's lifetime stretching nearly as long as the gods themselves, only with a better memory and sense of mortality, and Percy's lifetime a little bug's life of agony and sacrifice and stupidity).

"Where are we going?" Percy said sharply.

Nico looked up. "Olympus, right?"

Percy pointed to the sun, and Nico finally took the time to gather his bearings and notice that they were headed more west than east.

"Where are we going?" Nico asked. The west was not a safe place, and they'd only begun to leave there, and now they were headed back there, and everyone he knew in the north-west region pretty much wanted to kill him.

"We have a couple of different contacts in this are who might have some information—"

"Who?" Nico demanded. Percy took a subtle step to the side and touched one, bony finger to Nico's back. Nico took a second to focus on that, instead of the cranky minor- and demigods on the coast he really didn't want to meet.

For gods' sakes, he'd just _fucking_ gotten Percy away from Oegathis, and now they were headed right back.

The thing about the west coast that Nico had noticed, was that the beings that huddled there were the ones that didn't want the gods' attention (like his father. or Oegathis. or himself).

"Who are the contacts?" Percy asked—gentler, more respectfully.

"A wind spirit named Zephyr, and the nine Muses."

Either someone ran Nico through with a ghost sword, or his stomach dropped so dramatically he was quite surprised the other's didn't react to his internal organs now flopping out on the grass.

Oh.

"Why would they know anything?" Percy asked, oblivious to Nico's internal organs probably dripping on his shoes.

"Zephyr," Chiron sighed deeply, "is an incurable flirt, and he manages to gather a good deal of gossip in a short amount of time. The Muses' mother told them stories from the very beginning, and she still tells them the stories she gathers from everywhere. They're a good source of information, if you can decipher what they're telling you."

"What do you mean?" Percy asked. Behind him, Mr. D. had fallen asleep, soda tipping dangerously towards his lap.

"Each Muse has a specialty—each one will give you a little aspect of a tale. One must string them together to get the whole story."

"What are their names?" Percy inquired.

"I know there's Clio, who's history, and Thalia, who's comedy." Nico recalled from some vague part of his memory. Those two only stuck with him because Clio's name was the easiest, and once he'd spent a lot of time laughing at how different the Thalia on his card (soft, drapy dress and flowing curls) looked from the Thalia who'd saved him (all tough-looking and impenetrable).

Percy's head had snapped up at Thalia's name. His eyes—almost the exact color of the grass he was standing on—softened a bit.

Nico wondered at what point Percy'd taken in Thalia entirely as family, and if she fully realized how much he needed her. Probably not.

"The others are Erato, Euterpe, Meldomene, Terpsichore, Urania, Polyhymnia, and Calliope."

"Oh." Percy fidgeted. He'd never remember all of those. He'd never _pronounce _all of those.

"Now, I believe it's my turn to ask questions." Chiron shifted and folded his hindquarters under him.

Nico kept half expecting Percy to run in terror (or, to deflect like he usually did—crack a joke, hide a secret, all that), but Percy kept straightening his back like an arrow to the string and facing Chiron head on.

Nico would be on the way to Texas by now.

"Shoot." Percy flopped back down and leaned back on one arm, legs out straight in front of him. His other (new) hand was rubbing the seam on his jeans.

Nico wondered if he was doing that because he could feel texture with the bone, and he was so touch-starved even denim was interesting, or because he couldn't feel texture and he was touching things for the novelty of not-feeling something being touched, like poking a leg that's fallen asleep.

He'd have to ask. Or not. Maybe he'd just poke at a finger when Percy was sleeping and see if he reacted.

"The hand." Chiron gestured towards the bone hand Nico was now studying intently.

Percy raised an eyebrow and Chiron looked exasperated.

"How did you get a skeletal arm where you previously had none?" Carefully, specifically, Chiron had rephrased as a question.

"Magic." Percy paused, and when Chiron didn't look openly condemning, "Oegathis."

"You're aware how dangerous that was?" Chiron didn't look disappointed, only worried, and Nico could have kissed him for that if Chiron wasn't Chiron. Or if Nico wasn't Nico.

"Yes." Percy lifted his hand and stuck a finger between the bones of his palm, wiggling it. "I figured that out."

"You're lucky to have escaped with that." Chiron let that sink in for a moment, then added, "but I understand why you did it, Percy. I just want you to be careful."

"I can't afford to be careful." Percy stated.

The saddest thing was that Nico couldn't argue, and apparently neither could Chiron. Dionysus just snored softly.

"But," Percy paused; he poked the rest of his fingers through his left palm, gently stroking the bones, like a cat, "I think it helped. In a way."

_Yeah. _ Nico noticed the smile barely peeking through the shell of Percy's mouth, and the way he finally seemed the shyest bit safe. _I think it did, too._

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**A/N: Chapter! So, what do we think of Nico's reluctance when it comes to Zephyr and the Muses? And, at long last, we may have a more upward healing arc. **

**Big thanks to all of you.**

**Tobi. **


	3. Chapter 3--Air (or lack thereof)

_III. Air (or lack thereof)._

Percy couldn't help wondering, as he dug through Nico's bag when the younger boy was off in the woods, if Nico's reluctance was the norm.

On the one hand, Nico was never happy to meet gods. For that matter, Nico was never happy to meet, really, anyone.

Percy moved a hand to another pocket of Nico's backpack and cringed as his hand hit something sticky.

On the other hand, Nico seemed more reluctant than usual. The past two days of travel, he'd become increasingly withdrawn, almost seeming to fade away at the edges. Percy's tried to open him up, like a clam, but Nico just stared at him. He ran from deep conversations that didn't pertain to Percy's feelings; every time Percy tried to ask, Nico would dart off, stiff-legged, to the woods for sword practice. As cool as it was to see Nico practice, Percy wanted him to stop avoiding conversations. This time, come hell or high water (which might actually be a distinct possibility, considering the demigods) Percy was getting answers.

Finally, Percy's still-fleshy fingers grasped at a stick wrapped in worn linen. He yanked it out and shoved it in his pocket just as Nico stepped out of the woods, zipping up his jeans as he walked. Percy spun around and pulled his hoodie down, hoping it would be enough to hide the lump.

"Where's Chiron?" Nico asked brusquely.

"Off—" Percy waved in a broad arc to his left. "Somewhere."

Nico eyed him suspiciously. Actually, Percy had dropped a few hints about wanting to be alone with Nico and Chiron had made Mr. D and himself scarce, with a brief toss over his shoulder about spotting a diner nearby.

Without his wheelchair, Percy wasn't sure exactly how Chiron was going to work a diner visit without scaring the local populace. Centaurs couldn't have been all that common in the area.

"Off?"

"Yep," Percy ran a hand through his hair and looked up at Nico. "We need to talk, you know."

Percy actually saw the moment Nico drew the blinds in his eyes. "Not now, Pers. I need to go practice."

Percy stepped away from Nico's backpack. Nico pulled out his second, bright-white bone sword out of the backpack and slung it into alongside the black one on his back. He stuck a hand back inside the pack and dug around. Frowning, he checked the side pockets.

"Percy, you don't know where my cleaning kit is, do you?"

It seemed improportionately heavy in Percy's pocket.

"Nico, we need to talk."

"Did you take my kit?" Nico's voice sounded dangerously cold.

"We need to talk," Percy delayed, slowly walking backwards like away from a startled animal. "I want to talk."

"I don't want to talk."

"I want to talk."

"I don't."

"I do."

"Percy, give me back my kit."

Nico was creeping up into Percy's space, eying his pockets. Percy started walking back a little faster.

As much as he was more heavily weighted towards fight than flight, Nico was still a bit of an exception. Percy'd seen enough dead bodies around this man and Nico actively nurtured the aura of creepy. Percy was a-okay with running, if it came to it.

And it did. Nico made a sudden dart towards Percy's abdomen and Percy swung sideways, dodging.

Percy ran to the right, to the trees. There was a stream in there somewhere and Percy would find it.

He could hear Nico breathing a few yards behind him. There wasn't enough shadow back there for him to shadow travel, so Percy might—might—have a chance of making it.

Or he would have, if he'd have seen the tree.

But he didn't.

The bark was rough, like sandpaper, against his face when he ran full-into the branch. With his legs still running, but his head in a fixed place, his upper body went crashing to the ground.

The wind slammed out of him like a giant had just sat on his chest. The sky, already a psychedelic smear of blues, whites and yellows, started swimming even more.

Swimming would have been nice, Percy mused.

And yet, no swimming for Mr. Jackson was in the stars. A sudden weight pressed onto his stomach and he groaned. The weight shifted farther back, to his hips.

"Are you finished?" Nico's face appeared in front of swimming sky. He was sitting on Percy and looking entirely vicious.

"No." It was more of a gasp then a spoken word.

Nico looked furious. "Why is this so important to you?"

"Because," Percy had to inhale after every word, still seeing cartoon birds flapping around Nico's crown of hair, "I—care. Because—you—keep—nagging—me."

Percy smiled weakly. "Just—returning—the favor."

Nico seemed to melt a little. "It's not a big deal, Percy. It won't mess with the quest."

Percy's stomach heaved a little. Of course, Nico still thought he was worried about the quest.

Percy shook his head. His lungs were easing up, but not enough for full sentences. "Don't care. Worried—about you."

Nico let out a long, dramatic groan. He flopped to the side, off of Percy, to lie on the ground next to him. Percy turned his head enough to see the arc of Nico's nose.

There was a moment of silence—a deciding moment. If Nico decided to trust Percy, it would be now. If he walked off, Percy would have to let this one be.

"I went to the west coast for a while, between the big wars. Before the gods started going all split-personality. That's how I found Camp Jupiter."

Nico seemed to be waiting for something, so Percy nodded. Nico snorted.

"I was up and down the coast. I was a little desperate for anyone who knew of the gods but wasn't a pawn, you know? That's where I met Zephyr."

Nico chuckled wryly, darkly. "He was nice. Charming. He told me that locking myself away in the dark was depriving the earth of my presence. He can be quite. . .seductive."

If Percy's breath hadn't already been gone, it might have been sucked away again.

Fuck.

"Seductive?" Percy winced, even as he said the word.

"Yeah. He was powerful, Percy. Worldly. He acted like I was something desirable, something anyone would want. He said he wanted me. And I believed him."

Percy tried not to think of a lonely, impressionable Nico wandering into the arms of a wind god (who in Percy's mind was malformed and creepy). He tried not to think of how needy Nico would have been, how innocent. He failed, horribly.

"What happened?"

"What you would expect. I stayed with him for…a week, two, maybe. Then, he started talking about how demigods never last, and the house was too bright. He didn't want me there, most of the time. I spent 90% of my time elsewhere, and only stopped in for the dead of night, or middle of the day, whenever he texted.

"One day I stopped in for a place to sleep and found him with someone else. A tree nymph, I think. She had green hair."

Percy reached a hand over and pressed it against Nico's hip, the only place he could reach without moving much.

Moving seemed sacrilegious, as if to move would make the moment permanent. The story real.

"Nico," Percy spoke after a moment. "How old were you again?"

Nico turned his head. "Mid seventies."

Percy smiled in spite of himself. "You know what I mean."

"13. 14. Somewhere in there."

"That's. . .young." Percy's words scraped out over the broken glass in his throat.

"Yeah, well, you know us demigods. We have to grow up quick."

"Still, Nico, that's—"

"I know, Pers," Nico said wearily. "But shouldering on is the thing to do, right? It's only a meeting for information, and I can take care of myself. Now, I can," he added, standing up and stretching out his toothpick-limbs.

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**A/N: God, it's been a long time since I've updated. I'm still working on the rewrite of ReBone, and this got back-burnered. No more, I sayeth. **

**Let me know what you think? Still interested in the story?**

**Thanks for reading, **

**Tobi. **


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